A treasury of war poetry, British and American poems of the world war, 1914-1919/When It Is Finished
WHEN IT IS FINISHED
WHEN it is finished, Father, and we set
The war-stained buckler and the bright blade by,
Bid us remember then what bloody sweat,
What thorns, what agony,
Purchased our wreaths of harvest and ripe ears;
Whose empty hands, whose empty hearts, whose tears
In this Gethsemane
Ransomed the days to be.
We leave them to Thee, Saviour. We've no price,
No utmost treasure of the seas or lands,
No words, no deeds, to pay their sacrifice.
Only while England stands,
Their pearl, their pride, their altar,—not their grave,—
Bid us remember in what hours they gave
All that mankind may give
That we might live.